


Hypovolemia

by blamethemusk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Loss, Bloodplay, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Death, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Mild Gore, Near Death Experiences, Post-Purgatory (Supernatural), Sub Castiel (Supernatural), Temporary Character Death, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Benny Lafitte, Top Dean Winchester, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamethemusk/pseuds/blamethemusk
Summary: It started out as a necessity. Something strategic and tactical, easy for Benny to justify, and hard for Castiel to argue.If one of your allies is a vampire, suddenly spending day and night with not one, but two fountains of warm, fresh, live blood - the first he’d so much as wiffed in his fifty some-odd years in purgatory - his control is going to falter. He’s a risk to their efficiency as a team. He’s a risk to Dean’s safety. Benny either needs to feed or be left behind, and the latter isn’t exactly an option.And one of them could spare a lot more blood than the other.Back home, it's a lot harder to make excuses. At some point, they have to admit - they do it because they want to.





	Hypovolemia

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: The tags should mostly cover it, but there are buckets of blood in this one, and some mild death fetish-y ideation and some dom/sub vibes in Cas' internal monologue. Be forewarned.
> 
> Thanks to ryugariki-troubleseeker, randomskittles, and theboykingsthrone for betas across the MONTHS it took me to actually finish this nonsense.

It started out as a necessity. Something strategic and tactical, easy for Benny to justify, and hard for Castiel to argue. 

If one of your allies is a vampire, suddenly spending day and night with not one, but two fountains of warm, fresh, live blood - the first he’d so much as wiffed in his fifty some-odd years in purgatory - his control is going to falter. He’s a risk to their efficiency as a team. He’s a risk to Dean’s safety. Benny either needs to feed or be left behind, and the latter isn’t exactly an option.

And one of them could spare a lot more blood than the other.

What Cas never really figured out was how it had changed, painfully slowly, day by day. He doesn’t remember when Dean rubbing his shoulder while Cas snapped that he wasn’t a child became Dean pressed against his back, stroking his hair. He doesn’t remember which time it was that Dean first kissed him, afterwards, like an apology. He doesn’t remember which time he first tasted his own blood, like copper and lightning in Benny’s mouth.

He does remember Dean asking, begging, if he could just push Cas’ coat aside and rut up against him, over his clothes, just a little, please. He doesn’t remember why he said yes, but he remembers feeling Dean’s body go rigid, a soft sound in his ear, the warm wetness that seeped through his t-shirt, and realizing how very, strangely okay he was with this development.

Their return to Earth should have been the end of it. Benny had ample bagged blood, snatched from donation clinics and hospitals, and the team had gone their separate ways, for the most part. Castiel was rarely even together with Dean and Sam for long. 

So the part that Castiel really doesn’t understand is how he’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala in a motel parking lot in central Louisiana, while Sam thinks they’re on a salt-and-burn in upstate New York. Dean is sitting across the bench seat from him, anxiously checking his phone an average of every 24 seconds.

“He’ll be here,” Cas says.

Dean doesn’t respond, just shifts in his seat and averts his eyes, putting his phone face down in his lap like he can hide the fact that he was checking it again.

“I don’t understand why you’re so nervous.”

“I don’t get how you’re not,” Dean grumbles. “Hell, you’re the one who drew the short straw in this fucked up situation.”

“And I’ve done it before,” Castiel says. “And I know there’s nothing to worry about.”

“It’s different,” Dean says.

“How?”

Dean just shifts, again, gaze fixed out the window, on the highway. He’s looking for the next set of headlights to emerge from the darkness, Cas knows. He doesn’t press Dean for more. If he doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t want to talk, and Cas figures he has a good guess anyway. 

It’s different  _ here. _ Here, Dean is a man and behaves as a man, not as a monster among monsters. Here Dean is righteous and good and definitely does not get hard with the scent of blood under any circumstances. These are things he should have left in hell, things he could only barely excuse in purgatory. Castiel doesn’t know how to tell him it’s alright, and so he doesn’t, because Dean is nothing if not self-flagellating, and trying to convince him that any of this is okay is an exercise in pointlessness.

Especially when Cas isn’t sure it  _ is _ okay, and he himself has to wonder why he doesn’t experience the same reservations.

Headlights shine down the two lane highway, and Dean stops breathing for a moment when the ragged, shuddering camper van flashes its turn signal as it slows at the entrance to the parking lot.

“Is that him?” Cas asks.

Dean flashes the Impala’s headlights twice, calling the other car over. “Yeah, that’s him,” he says, as the van pulls in a few parking spaces over. Castiel doesn’t wait for Dean’s lead to get out of the car.

Benny greets them both with open arms and a wide smile, embracing Dean like the old friends Castiel supposes they are before turning to Cas himself. He lays a just-this-side-of-friendly kiss on Cas’ cheek, who grimaces but doesn’t protest, and Dean glances around the lot and towards the motel office, hands in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched.

“You two been waiting on me long?” Benny asks.

“We checked in like half an hour ago, figured you couldn’t be far off,” Dean says, and pulls the room key out of his pocket.

“Then please,” Benny says. “Lead the way.”

Time and privacy were not exactly resources on hand in purgatory. Even when things developed from necessity to sex, weapons were never out of arm’s reach, pants never rucked down much below mid-thigh. Bathing was rare, so oral sex wasn’t exactly an appetizing prospect. There was never a chance for much more than hands and spit.

Cas has engaged in pre-meditated, private, unhurried sex with Dean, before, but it’s been a few years, what with everything that’s been happening in their lives, and it feels foreign, bordering on uncomfortable, to hear the motel room door swing shut behind the three of them and know that this isn’t going to be another thoughtless fumble. There are rules to follow, Castiel is sure, and it suddenly occurs to him that he’d never actually bothered to learn them.

Dean is the one Cas usually looks to to guide him through these rules, the unspoken rituals of social interaction, and most keenly when it comes to sex. But Dean is distracted, and jumpy, and there’s little doubt in Cas’ mind that he’s not up to taking the lead, tonight. He won’t quite look either of them in the eye, and he holds a tension in his shoulders like he’s bracing himself against some unseen force.

Cas glances to Benny, and Benny glances back. He shoots Cas a bemused sort of smirk, and crosses the room to Dean, standing close and catching his eye.

“C’mon, now,” Benny says, almost under his breath, before he takes Dean’s face between his wide palms and kisses him. Dean lets out a muffled grunt of annoyance, a token protest for his pride, no doubt, but eases into the touch quickly enough. 

His hand comes up to find purchase on Benny’s neck, thumb absently tracing the bottom edge of his short beard, and when Benny pulls away a minute later, the kiss alone has broken the surface tension of Dean’s hesitation. Not untroubled, but less so, certainly, with the reminder that he’s wanted, not just wanting.

Dean catches Cas’ eye over Benny’s shoulder, and gives him a sort of upwards nod. “What about you, huh?” He asks.

Cas, having been content to observe for the moment, needs just a moment to assess the question, gather his thoughts. “Um,” he begins, mumbling more than a little. “What about me?”

“You coming, or what?” Benny clarifies on Dean’s behalf, having turned to face Cas as well.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you just yet,” Cas says. 

Benny scoffs and holds out a hand invitingly. “C’mere,” he says.

When Castiel approaches, Benny takes him by the hand and treats him to the same brand of soft, warm kiss he’d just given Dean. Cas’ eyes slip shut, an instinct Dean had had to teach him years ago, but one he’d never argue - it lets him focus his awareness on the touch, the microscopic sensations that make up the beauty of a kiss.

Benny’s hand slips around the side of Cas’ neck, a mimicry of how Dean had touched Benny just a minute earlier, but the gentle slide of fingers against the place where throat met jaw is weighed down with intention in Benny’s hands. An acute awareness a monster and an angel share of the structures beneath the skin. Thick cords of muscle. The hard cartilage around the trachea. The delicate flutter of the pulse against the skin.

There’s a breath of rest between them, and Cas’ eyes flutter open, only to find Dean shockingly close, almost against Benny’s side, watching them both with intense focus. He seems a little taken aback, when Cas meets his eye, a little embarrassed to have been caught so invested in their activities. 

Cas can’t suppress a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and Benny turns to look over his shoulder. Cas leans across the larger man to press his own short kiss to the side of Dean’s mouth.

“Are you alright?” Cas asks, quietly, a moment later.

“Yeah, ‘course I am,” Dean answers in kind.

There are fingers trailing up to card through Castiel’s hair. Benny’s fingers. For all this impatience may have annoyed him in the beginning, it certainly doesn’t hurt for at least one of the three of them to be more eager than he is wary.

“Are you certain? I’m not sure your friend can be stalled much longer,” Cas says, and there’s a little warm rush of satisfaction when he sees Dean smile in spite of himself, feels Benny’s chuckle in his chest.

It’s Dean who leans in, this time, all of his own accord, at long last stepping into the driver’s seat where he belongs. He distracts Cas with his mouth, soft lips and slick tongue grounding the angel and holding his attention as Benny steps away momentarily. Cas isn’t even anticipating it, really, when he feels a tug at the back of his coat, and he releases Dean’s collar to let Benny slide it off his shoulder and discard it into some dark corner of the room. His suit jacket follows not long after.

He’s still languidly making out with Dean when he’s yanked away from the kiss by a fistfull of hair, and Dean spits a put-out ‘hey’ in Benny’s direction. Castiel’s first instinct is to break the hold, slap away the hand, but he holds himself. He looks to Dean.

He always looks to Dean. 

Castiel and Benny rarely speak directly to one another, even like this, as if for all the time they’ve spent together, for all the intimacy they ought to have in theory, it’s all just tolerance for Dean’s sake. As if there’s not some modicum of fondness, or at least respect beneath the snipping.

Though, if he’s being honest, Cas would hardly allow Benny to treat him this way if there wasn’t.

“I gotta say, Dean, I feel like I’m putting in the work so far and you’re reaping the benefits,” Benny says.

He’s speaking to Dean, but Dean never breaks his eye contact with Cas. “You know he could snap your wrist like a twig, right?” He asks.

“Oh, I know,” Benny laughs. He gives Cas a playful shove by his steadfast grip in his hair, forcing his head and his eyes downward, breaking his direct connection with Dean. “But I know he won’t.”

There’s familiar twist in Castiel’s gut, and Benny releases him.

It’s a feeling he doesn’t quite understand, not really, but which he can only intellectualize and compartmentalize into meaninglessness, and take as it comes. To trust Dean, and in trusting Dean’s judgement enough to trust Benny, and to let that trust overcome disrespect and cruelty, and to feel cared for all the same. To trust Dean enough to surrender the burden of control. It’s too many factors, too many words to explain what feels like a twist, or a tension, somewhere in the core of his body. Arousal, but different. Arousal, but with an aftertaste of something far more complex than that.

It lights him up inside.

That feeling seals Castiel’s lips when he wants to tell Benny off, stills his hand when he wants to push him away. He becomes compliant, against his better judgement, certainly, but to his own surprise, it’s not against his will.

“How do you two want to do this, then?” Dean asks, looking between the two men.

“Angel here is the star of the show,” Benny says. His previously rough touch changes, softens out as he instead smoothes the flat of his palm over Castiel’s shoulders. “It’s up to him.”

Cas doesn’t answer the implicit question. He thinks about it, sure, is distracted by it, but Dean has to squeeze his arm, bring him back to the here and now.

“What do you want, Cas?” He asks. 

“I want…” Cas begins, and he’s really trying to find an answer, but the words get caught up, trapped in his mouth. He knows he misses the surrender of letting Benny feed. He knows he misses their bodies, and their attention. He doesn’t know how to put them all into words. He doesn’t know what form he wants those things to take.

“Sex and blood,” Benny offers, throwing Cas a lifeline. “Together or apart?”

“Together,” Castiel says, without a moment’s hesitation.

“How’d you two used to do this kind of thing?” Benny asks, casually. Cas hears the rustling as he goes ahead and divests himself of his shirt. “Pitching and catching wise.”

Castiel turns, squinting at him. “Pitching?”

“He asking if you wanna top,” Dean explains. “Like, fuck instead of be fucked.”

_ Oh. _ A little tingle runs up Cas’ spine. His brain short circuits for a split second, like a little home movie of the options implied interrupts the regular scheduled broadcast of his thoughts, and it’s a hell of a distraction. 

“That’s not really viable,” Cas says, when he reins his brain back into order. “I can’t maintain an erection, with the bloodloss.”

Dean’s eyes widen a fraction. “Shit, yes, I forgot.”

“If that’s what you want, I can replace the blood at the rate I lose it, try to control the finer points of my vessel’s circulatory system to keep as much of it as low as possible, but…” Cas trails off. He finds himself tripping over his next words, tongue too big for his mouth. He feels himself flush.

“But?” Dean asks.

Castiel clears his throat. “I like the way it feels,” he says. It’s harder to say than it should be - given that surely they both know already. “When there’s not enough.”

There’s a dark, quiet chuckle behind him. A hand brushes over the back of his neck, through his hair, and Benny cradles the side of Castiel’s head as he swings in to press a kiss to the side of his neck. Cas’ heart skips a beat at that first contact, not convinced Benny won’t bite down here and now.

“Of course you like it,” Benny says. “Wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, would you?”

Cas lets out a shaky breath, and nods.

“You good to bottom, then?” Dean asks. He shucks the remenants of Cas’ shirt off his shoulders. “Gonna let me fuck you?”

“Yes,” Castiel says.

A dirty smile crosses Dean’s face. He brushes his hand over Castiel’s jaw on his way past, hand landing on Benny’s face instead, but pulling both, subtly towards him.

“Gonna let Benny fuck you?” He asks.

Castiel holds their eye contact, unwavering. “If you think that’d be alright,” he says. “Yes.”

Something about Dean goes soft, just around the eyes, and he leans in for a slow, gentle kiss. When he breaks it off, and Cas’ eyes flicker open again, Benny has moved around to Castiel’s side, and Dean moves, easily, from one mouth to the next, absolutely seamless. Not as if the two of them are interchangeable, no - but like they’re one and the same. It makes him a little jealous, Castiel is ashamed to admit. But it also feels  _ right. _

“You wanna get those clothes off, and I’ll get your boy opened up for you?” Benny asks, low voice against Dean’s lips.

Dean smiles. “Yeah, go for it,” he says, and gives Benny an almost-parting last peck on the lips. He turns to Cas. “Sound good?”

Cas nods again. Dean gives him the same small press of the lips. Stepping back, and retreating to the side of the room, Dean slips out of his jacket as Benny comes around to face Castiel, crowding him backwards and closing the distances both between himself and Cas, and Cas and the bed. Something small, and hefty lands on the sheets behind Castiel, and he turns - the lubricant Dean has been carrying in his jacket pocket since their stop at a drug store earlier that evening.

“So prepared,” Benny teases. Dean ignores him, and returns to stripping uncermoniously.

Cas takes a deep breath. This is where he’s going to have to get involved, he figures, to actually be present in his own body and participate. But having to think about what that means is what sends him out of his body, unattached to his vessel, and it’s such a struggle to hold on to the inertia of arousal.

Benny must notice his discomfort setting in, because before those thoughts spiral out of control, there he is, pressing in close, chest against chest, to nuzzle at Cas’ cheek and get hands on the button of his slacks - and when had his belt disappeared? Benny pops the button there and slides both hands partially inside, skirting over Castiel’s hips as he works the waistbands of both pants and underwear down over them.

Cas’ heart skips that same beat once again, and he crashes, hard, back into his own body. He lets out a sound he would be too proud to call a gasp as one of Benny’s hands just barely brushes over his cock. The arousal, the thrill, is back with a vengeance. 

“Don’t look so worried, cher,” Benny drawls. “It ain’t my first rodeo, either. Not gonna hurt ya ‘til you want me to.” 

The gasp comes back out in a trembling exhale, and Cas raises his hands to rest them on Benny’s ribs, steadying himself. It’s the gentlest version of Benny he is likely to get tonight, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it - that he didn’t love, on some level, Benny’s ability to toe the line between their rivalry and whatever it was that had formed between them and Dean. 

“How do you think…?” Castiel asks. “What would be simplest?”

“Well, lying down is probably a good start,” Benny replies, and adds with a hint of a chuckle, “Standing here stiff as a board like you do ain’t exactly something you’re gonna find in the Kamasutra.”

With a brief pause to wrestle with shoes, and pull Castiel’s pants the rest of the way off his legs, they maneuver the last few steps to the bed, and Cas settles back, sinking into the bedspread. He takes a breath and tries to relax - being stood over like this, by a vampire, no less one who fully intends to  _ eat _ him within the hour, is an incredible amount of exposure, especially for a being so used to cloaking himself in layers upon layers of ill fitting clothing.

“What was that about getting him opened up, huh, Benny?” Dean appears over Benny’s shoulder, having evidently undressed faster than Benny and Castiel could make it to the bed. He sits down, fully nude, now, on top of the sheets beside Cas. “You didn’t do anything.”

“It’s not my fault,” Benny complains. “Castiel needs a delicate hand, apparently. Like a virgin.”

Cas sits bolt upright. “Excuse me?” He asks, incredulously. “I am  _ not.” _

“We know, baby,” Dean says. He leans in to kiss Castiel again, fingers in his hair, and then smoothes the hand down Cas’ neck and over his chest to gently press him back down onto the bed. “He’s pulling your chain.”

“I’m gonna be pullin’ somethin’,” Benny murmurs to himself with a sly smile, squeezing a little dab of lube out of the bottle and into his hand.

Dean’s hand remains planted on Castiel’s chest, not pinning him down with any strength, but with the silent command it implies. Dean’s eyes, however, are on Benny.

Benny’s finger circles a few times over Cas’ rim, relaxing the muscle, before the first press inward. Castiel hisses, under his breath at the foreign, forgotten sensation of being penetrated. He reminds himself to bear down, to let the thick finger in. It’s been years, yes, but he remembers this dance.

The second finger goes as well as the first, and by the time he’s ready for a third, Dean has still barely so much as looked at him, his eyes either on the progress between Castiel’s legs, or on Benny alone, Dean seems fascinated with the vampire for the moment.

“Big hands, huh?” Dean says, apropo of nothing and failing entirely to fein only a casual interest. 

Benny looks up from his work. He smirks. “Yeah,” Benny says. “You got something to say about ‘em?”

Dean just laughs. From his position on the bed, Cas can only see a damning sliver of his features, but the smile, the gentle, playful ease that’s come into his posture, is something Castiel could have recognized from space.

“Next time, chief,” Benny says, and accepts a kiss from Dean without stilling in his deliberate, effective movements inside Cas.

“Don’t try gettin’ me too riled up in your own direction, Dean,” Benny chuckles, with the dirtiest look on his face that Castiel has ever seen. “Too much excitement, I might forget you’re not the snack I’m meant to be chewing on tonight.”

Castiel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the look of them. Dean’s happiness is more than enough to abet the seething he always seems to feel just below the surface with Benny, at least outside of these little trysts. Even if it is just in this context - it’s hard to be jealous of Benny’s implication when he, himself, is currently split open on his digits.

“So,” Dean says, finally ripping his attention away from Benny to look between the both of them. “Where we taking this, fellas?”

“If Benny sat up, against the headboard,” Cas suggests, after a moment of thought. “And sat - knelt, really - in his lap, would you be able to reach?”

“Yeah, if we work it right,” Dean says, and turns to Benny in a silent question.

Benny nods, pulling out his fingers. “Yeah, I bet.”

It doesn’t take long to set themselves up like that. Benny (finally stripped of his pants) sits against the headboard with half the room’s pillows behind his back, and his legs straight out. Cas is precariously balanced with his knees planted on the outsides of Benny’s thighs. He feels like this isn’t going to be sustainable once they get to the main event, but, well, between the two of them, Dean and Benny will be able to manage. And when Dean slides up behind Cas, bracing him upright, pressing him into Benny, there, at last, is that soft, beautiful skin on skin that Cas always forgets he so craves until he has it again. 

Dean kisses the side of Castiel’s neck as they all shuffle and settle into position. “Still sure?” He asks.

Benny is as close in front of Castiel as Dean is behind. They’re both touching him, too, hands across his body, gentling him like maybe he might actually change his mind and try to run off. 

“I’m sure,” Cas says, meeting Benny’s eyes and making it positively clear that this is his permission. His consent. 

Benny kisses, first. He hides his fangs among kisses, like a tiger in the reeds. He’s done it before, back in purgatory, and he does it now, first pressing dry kisses up the front of Castiel’s throat, over his Adam’s apple, then up under his jaw. As he moves away from one such press of his lips, the firm, sharp shape of a tooth comes just close enough to the skin to be felt as a gentle scrape. A warning.

Castiel’s heart speeds up, is pounding at the tease of violence. There are kisses to one side of his throat, wetter, open mouthed, and then across to the opposite side. His fight or flight kicks in, and he chooses neither. Benny kisses the spot where neck meets collar, and there is the briefest breath of a moment between the pulling away at the end of the kiss, and the return.

He’d seen this sort of thing in a movie, once or twice, while bumming around motel rooms with his boys. A young ingenue, lidded gaze and painted red lips, would throw her head back and gasp softly, as two needle-thin fangs slipped into her skin. Easy, beautiful, painless.

This isn’t like the movies. 

It  _ hurts. _ Benny’s teeth are like knives, and they don’t sink into Cas’ skin so much as tear, rend, devour their way through the unfortunate flesh between the vampire and Cas’ carotid artery. He flinches, hard, in the combined grip of the other men, whines at the pain, and feels his heartbeat quicken with adrenaline. His hand flies to an iron grip in Benny’s hair, and it’s taking everything he has to hold down the self-preservation instinct of stop-the-thing-making-you-bleed.

“It’s okay, baby,” Dean mumbles into his ear. He reaches over Cas’ shoulder and finds a firm, grounding grip on Cas’ jaw, turning his face up and away from Benny and holding him there, Cas’ head resting back against Dean’s shoulder. “It’s okay, we’ve got you.”

There’s little to no space between Cas and Benny’s bodies, but Dean’s hand finds his way between them anyways. Fingers wrap around Cas’ cock, in long, slow pulls just enough to distract Cas from the pain, to keep it good for him. A balancing act between Dean’s warm hand and Benny’s hot mouth.

The erection is already flagging, badly, and it isn’t coming back. Even suppressing his angelic healing, letting himself feel his vessel fully, Cas can tell exactly what’s going on in this body, and his blood pressure is tanking. He could replace the hydraulics of blood flow with animating grace, sure, revive his cock, stop the trembling in his limbs, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t think his partners would want him to.

Weak, and tired, and laying his faith at Dean’s feet, Cas relaxes back against Dean’s chest and submits.

Dean holds him like that for the first few minutes, patient as ever. He bears Castiel’s weight and keeps him upright and still for Benny’s benefit, and Cas just goes limp, riding out the sensations as the sharp pain in his neck ebbs to an ache, and the hot flush of three naked bodies in close proximity fades until he’s chilled, and hyper aware of the brushes of Dean’s hands against his stomach and inner thighs. His limbs start to feel heavy, and while he could keep his grip in Benny’s hair, he doesn’t particularly care to, so he lets go. His feet are starting to tingle.

“You ready for more, sweetheart” Dean asks into Cas’ ear. 

Cas more or less simply groans in assent. He could form words, speak properly, but the first rushes of adrenaline that had thrown the world into sharp focus are fading into a slower, groggier experience, and he’s truly starting to tire, now, so again, he doesn’t particularly care to.

“Benny,” Dean says, and Cas is jostled as Dean pokes at the other man to get his attention. 

With a noise of dissatisfaction, or disappointment, Benny reluctantly pulls off Cas’ neck. The flow from the wound isn’t gushing, but it’s still a fresh bite, bleeding steadily, and a few red rivulets immediately start pouring down Castiel’s chest without Benny’s constant attention, like an ice cream cone on a hot day. They’re lines of burning warmth as Cas’ skin goes cold.

Cas doesn’t assist with the shifting of his own weight, but Dean and Benny don’t seem to struggle much. Wide, warm hands find purchase on his bare back and shove him forward, where Benny’s arms lock around him like steel bands. His face falls forward into the crook of Benny’s neck, and Cas takes the time and puts in the effort to adjust, move so his face doesn’t squish uncomfortably, closes his eyes, and settles into the warmth and fuzzy-edged comfort of what may as well be a bear hug.

Meanwhile, Dean’s hand trails back and down, between Cas’ cheeks, and he slides two fingers back in without much purpose or haste, just testing the waters one more time.

The two fingers slip out, and Dean shuffles in closer behind him. Benny leans back, bringing Cas with him, not so much that they’re lying down, but enough that there’s a real, workable angle for Dean to exploit. Castiel hears Dean shift his position behind him, feels Dean’s hands find his hips, and finally,  _ finally, _ there’s that blunt pressure and the tight slide as Dean presses into him.

Cas lets out a would-have-been moan, but it comes out as a strangled whine. Benny’s thick fingers trace soothing circles in the short hairs at the nape of Cas’ neck, takes the moment of distraction to return to lapping at Cas’ throat as Dean eases in and bottoms out.

Dean stills for a moment, once he’s fully inside. Breathes for a beat. There’s a searing hot hand on Castiel’s shoulder blade, thumb running over the jut of bone in a soothing gesture.

“You still holding up okay?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Cas breathes. Truth be told, he’s not entirely sure he can be heard from the way he’s enveloped in Benny’s embrace. “Please, just… please.” 

He’s not sure what he’s asking for. More, he supposes. But when it comes to Castiel’s body, Dean always seems to know before Cas himself, and he doesn’t wait for clarification now. 

The movements start slow. Dean adjusts himself and their position in fractions until the thrust is long, and smooth. Benny goes along with him, and shifts Castiel’s weight to keep his mouth solidly latched onto the font of blood.

The sensation is incomparable, to be full and beloved, and the intensity of those feelings are brought to a highlight by the absolute weakness these two men allow him to display, that they give him like a precious gift. Nowhere else on Earth or beyond is this  _ allowed _ to Castiel, and he is enraptured by the subtleties, the sounds, the particular presses of skin on skin. 

He remembers this  _ taking longer, though _ , he thinks. But Dean works up to a speed, a steady acceleration, and his breathing is ragged in Cas’ ear. His head has come to rest on Cas’ shoulder, mouth against his neck, exactly opposite Benny’s bite, panting hot -  _ burning _ hot, it feels like - on the sensitive skin.

Benny pulls off the wound again with a sated sigh. He may not be done, but he’s not dying of thirst, anymore. From his limited vantage point, Cas can see his own blood dripping down Benny’s chin. Benny’s watching, studying them, holding Cas for Dean as Dean had held Cas for him. 

“Fuck,” Dean curses, soft and rough just under his breath.

Cas feels it, when Dean comes, the pulse of it, and the stiffness of his body before he melts into a sated, bonelessness. Open mouthed, he makes no sound, but finds his release in that breathless moment.

For a long minute, afterwards, there’s just Dean’s hot breath against the back of his neck, and a few incremental, residual shifts of Dean’s hips as he comes down. And then Dean pulls back, takes away the warm line of him against Cas’ back, inside Cas’ ass, and leaves him cold and wet and empty, still slumped against Benny.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, and Cas hears and feels the mattress’ creaking springs bounce as Dean flops back. Benny chuckles, softly, and Cas tries to turn his head to look, but only winds up pressing his face against Benny’s throat.

“Good for you, chief?” Benny jokes.

“Yeah, Benny,” Dean says. “Yeah, he’s all yours.”

“I gotta say, I’m not gonna be getting any kind of upward thrust like this,” Benny says. “You mind if I put him down?”

Dean must indicate some kind of non-verbal yes, because a minute later Cas is losing the warmth of Benny’s chest against his, and is laid, more gently than he’d have expected from Benny, onto the sheets. Dean’s body, still restless with catching his breath, meets Castiel’s side-to-side, and he finds his head resting on the crook of Dean’s arm.

The hand attached to the arm cushioning Cas’ head takes hold of Cas’ adjacent hand, and it feels strange, a little tingly, a little heavy. Dean also rolls onto his side, facing him, puts his free hand on Cas’ jaw and plants a kiss on Cas’ cheek. Cas almost winces with the force of it, and then he almost laughs - Dean’s having a threesome with an angel and a vampire, and Cas is slowly but steadily bleeding out, and this about as tender as Castiel has ever seen him. As soft as his touch and rough edges ever get. And Cas adores him for it.

Meanwhile, Benny’s retrieved the lubricant from the corner of the bed where Dean had abandoned it earlier and slicks up his own cock, which, his hunger sated and Castiel’s ass finally available, is finally ready to get involved.

Benny gets a hold of Cas’ hips as Dean settles with his head tipped against Cas’ shoulder, looking down his body at much the same angle as Castiel himself. Benny shifts, trying to pull Cas’ ass into his lap, and Cas makes a token effort to grip Benny’s waist with his thighs, but finds he just doesn’t have the strength. Benny tries his hand at pushing Cas’ useless leg out of the way, bending him in half, essentially, and without prompting, Dean makes himself useful and holds it up with a grip behind the knee, which bears the added benefit of tilting Cas’ pelvis up.

Benny leans forward over Cas, bracing himself against the bed with one arm while using his other hand to line himself up against Cas’ hole, still invitingly loose from Dean’s attentions. As he breaches Cas, he’s able to let go and put his weight more fully onto Cas’ body. He slides in slowly, but easily, resting his forehead against Cas’ chest and humming with satisfaction.

There’s no tightness or burn to the stretch, as there was earlier. Second cock of the night meant the hard work’s all been done, and Cas only feels the gratifying fullness he’d missed in the brief minutes between Dean and Benny.

“God  _ damn,” _ Benny whispers, half to himself.

“Yeah?” Dean asks.

“I ain’t gonna lie to you, this is not the first proper fuck I’ve had since we came back,” Benny says. “But I’ll be damned if it’s not a  _ fantastic _ one.”

“Because of his ass?” Dean asks, lazy, curious. “Or his blood?”

“Brother,” Benny laughs, adjusting his grip and angle, starting a first testing thrust. “Some things are just better than the sum of their parts.”

It doesn’t take long for Benny to get into it and pick up the pace. Finally getting his own sexual pleasure, after so long spent supporting Dean’s and Castiel’s, just focusing on feeding, he gets worked up, fast. Cas doesn’t expect he’ll last too much longer than Dean did. He’s breathing hard, grunting, louder in his lovemaking than Dean was, bent low over Cas, into his personal space.

Dean just holds Cas, pressing microscopic kisses into his shoulder, and watching intently.

In his fervour, Benny leans back in, closes the gap, and takes a bite out of the other side of Cas’ neck. Castiel groans at that, fingers clenching, he thinks, on Dean’s hand, but he realizes very suddenly that his hands are all but fully numb, now, with the unrelenting tide of the blood loss, and his vision is starting to dim, and he has no way of knowing where Dean is except that he trusts Dean to stay with him. 

The new bite is deep, horribly so, Benny’s teeth nicking his trachea as collateral, and Cas coughs once, twice, and tastes copper. He forces himself to stop trying to clear the airway - to stop trying to breathe. He’ll be fine - every cell will snap back into place, perfect and unharmed, the instant they’re done - but right now, he just needs to let his body bleed.

A shiver runs through him at the thought that, were he human, he would be far past the point of no return, now. Doomed, and helpless. Minutes or seconds from succumbing. It should be a cold shiver, something that makes him want to put a stop to this, heal himself and get dressed and walk away, but for reasons beyond logic, it’s not. Instead, he only wants to cling that much closer to his partners. To give more.

It goes black as the thought passes through his mind. It goes black gently, and quietly, and the last thing Castiel is truly aware of is the rhythm of his body’s shoves and jolts going off-beat. And then, for a little while, there is nothing.

Cas doesn’t know how long he’s out. He just knows that he goes out slowly, and comes back in suddenly. Like a harsh, cruel waking, his eyes snap open, and he gasps air into his aching lungs, and the world returns to crystal clear high definition.

There’s something warm and wet around his cock. His hands fly to Dean’s hair as Benny’s shoot up to hold Cas’ upper body still, as he struggles not to jerk too much or too dangerously in the shock of rebirth. It’s not enough to keep to movement from hindering Dean, who gags momentarily before pulling off of him to cough and wait out the spasms, stroking Cas slowly with one hand in the meanwhile, rubbing circles into his hip with the other. He lets his head rest, pillowed, on Cas’ stomach.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, first words in a new life. 

“We got you, sweetheart,” Dean says, gently, evidently not offended by the involuntary thrust a moment ago. “It’s your turn, now. Just let us take care of you.”

“Okay,” Cas murmurs, and does his best to relax back against Benny’s chest. He’s exhausted, down to his bones. Back in the land of the living, but ready to rest after the trip.

His blood supplies restored, the erection is no longer an issue, and Dean returns to his task gladly as soon as the twitching subsides. Cas sighs, soaking up the sensation of Dean’s attentions, the press and slide, and just allows himself to passively ride out the pleasure. 

Cas can’t see himself, but he suspects - and a light touch to his own throat confirms it - that the skin is unbroken, unblemished. Except, as his chest is, caked thick with drying, red-brown blood, from chin to navel. The bed sheets are soaked through, utterly ruined. The mattress probably is, too. Like a crime scene. The thought makes Castiel flush, and he tells himself it’s more to do with Dean’s mouth than the thick metallic scent still permeating the motel room.

Maybe Dean isn’t the only one getting wires crossed, anymore.

The orgasm is quiet, and gentle. The blowjob is unhurried, a long, drawn out ebb and flow. Sex and arousal were so often like waves on a beach, and their sex earlier in the night could be described that way, too - rhythmic peaks of sensation, resting only long enough between each to stop the crashing of the waves becoming too much. This is like… like floating. Dean sucks, and licks, and kisses, and strokes his thighs, and Cas floats along the top of a set of wonderful pleasant feelings for what feels like hours, in no rush to get to climax.

And then, like reaching an undertow, and for no action in particular on Dean’s part, Cas is suddenly out of control of his pleasure. He makes a few breathy noises, feels his muscles clench, and it’s over - the wave crashes on the beach. It all washes over him, and there is no greater satisfaction in God’s creation.

There’s some rearranging. Benny extracts himself from under Castiel to sit up beside him, instead, and Dean comes up to wrap around Cas’ other side, laying an arm on Cas’ chest and scratching, absently, at the dried blood, there. Cas bends an arm around to brush his knuckles against Dean’s jaw, the tingle of his stubble. He closes his eyes. 

This, he thinks, is what makes him wish, in some far off way, that they could talk about it in the daylight.

Benny makes to stand, and Cas temporarily abandons his little moment of intimacy with Dean to reach over and pull him back. His ass lands back on the bed with a surprised little “oof” and he laughs. “I’m just goin’ to get you a washcloth, angel,” Benny says.

“Don’t worry about it, Benny,” Dean says, mumbling it half into Cas’ hair. His voice is rough, and his eyes are closed. He’s about ready for sleep, too.

“You wanna sleep in this mess?” Benny asks, and when he blinks, “this mess” is gone. The hemoglobin burnt out of the rough sheets like it was never there, all three men’s skin wiped clean. Not a drop of blood in sight.

Benny sits back down, a look of faint surprise on his face. “Oh,” he says, simply.

“Oh,” Dean repeats back to him with a smile.

“Come here,” Cas says, and though his look of surprise turns just faintly suspicious, Benny relents. The three roll and scooch until they each share the others’ personal space in the too-small bed, Benny to Cas’ front, Dean to his back. Cas shuts his eyes again, lays his head on Benny’s shoulder, and Benny scoffs.

“I thought angels didn’t sleep,” Benny says.

“Shh,” Dean hushes. 

Castiel smiles.


End file.
